Rise of the Death Dealer

by James Silke

  They buried Cobra where she died, under the tall tree with the red bark. The grave was deep, and she was laid on a thick bed of needles so her passage to the other world would be made in comfort. Earth covered her, and then heavy stones, so that the animals would not dig up her bones and carry off her Kaa.

  When this was done, Brown John stood alone beside the grave until night came. Then Robin joined him, took hold of one of his hands in both of hers, and they stood silently together. After a long moment, the bukko hugged Robin, then turned to move back to the fire. Robin gently stopped him.

  “Brown,” she said, her tone curious but respectful, “there’s something I don’t understand. Why, if she knew, didn’t she tell us?”

  “Because she knew what that savage nymph knew. Only a woman with a strong and virtuous Kaa, who only wants the jewels so they could help someone else, can touch them. And she was afraid to tell, fearing, if you knew you had that strength, that the knowledge might corrupt you and ruin everything.”

  “Oh,” said Robin. “But she could have told you!”

  “No,” he said. “She had been the Queen of Serpents too long… she could trust no one.” Robin nodded uncertainly.

  “I know,” he said thoughtfully, “that it seems strange that a woman of such deadly cunning could believe in the legend, and trust it. But she was desperate to save Gath, and she had nothing to believe in, except what she had believed in as a child.”

  “She wasn’t born a serpent?”

  “No. She had a childhood just as you did, at least until she was fourteen, but she never had a chance to grow up. In fact, for the last few weeks, deep inside, in her heart… she was that child again. Wildly and helplessly in love.”

  “I don’t understand,” Robin said.

  “You don’t have to,” the bukko replied, his tone kind but firm. “Someday, perhaps, I’ll explain it to you. Not now.”

  Robin smiled. “I shouldn’t be making you think about it, should I? But there’s just one thing, then I won’t talk anymore. What am I going to do with the jewels? I mean, it’s wonderful and all that, and very flattering. But I’m not a goddess! You know that. I’m a dancing girl.”

  “I know,” he said casually. “That does present a problem, but we’ll work it out.”

  “You’ll help me?” she asked, excited by the prospect.

  “Of course,” he said, “I’m your bukko! That’s what I do.”

  She smiled as only she could smile, and raised up on her toes, kissing him on the cheek. Then, with sober gratitude, she said firmly, “She was right about you, Brown. You talked us through the hard times, all of us, even Gath. We would have failed, wouldn’t even have tried, if you hadn’t helped us all. And I won’t have you thinking different.”

  He chuckled at that, and the boyish glint came back into his eyes. “You may be right,” he said firmly, “and it’s proud of it, I am. I admit it.” Then he felt his voice change, and he asked himself as much as he asked Robin, “But can those that help others, help themselves? Answer me that.”

  Forty-five

  WALK AWAY

  Jakar led them south through the forest of red trees. He had traveled in this land, and was searching for a trade road which he remembered headed east. By following it, they hoped to reach the vast desert which lay to the south of the Great Forest Basin.

  After a day on foot, they came across a village built among the branches of the trees, one of the many belonging to a tribe of savages Jakar believed were called Ikarians. They traded meat Gath had killed in the forest for a cart and a mule, obtained vague directions and continued on their journey.

  On the second day, they reached a savanna and found the road Jakar searched for. The Way of All Coins. It was a merchants’ road that stretched all the way from the Endless Sea in the west to the Kitzakk Empire in the east.

  Following the road southeast, they crossed the savanna in one day, came to the northern edge of the great desert and turned east. After five days they reached the massive dry cataracts that marked the border between the desert and the forest. They headed along the cataracts for the better part of a day, and came to Wowell Pass, the first trail heading north into the forest basin.

  It was dusk when they arrived. The orange light of the sun was spilling across the flat desert to the southeast in long radiant bars, and striking through the drifting clouds that hovered over the heights of the deep stone chasms, turning them to glowing golds and oranges and pinks. Through the openings in the clouds, they could see the huge shelves of rock that descended to the basin, the stepping-stones of the gods.

  They stared at the vista long and hard, with weary relief on their trail-darkened faces. They all knew that at the base of Wowell Pass, only two days away, was the Valley of Miracles and Rag Camp. Home.

  They made a night camp behind sheltering rocks, and Robin set about preparing a feast to celebrate. In their travels, she had secured a skin of desert wine, various herbs and a vial of olive oil, and Gath had speared several plump desert hens. Insisting that, since the men had done the work of hunting, she would prepare the feast by herself.

  By the time she was applying the last garnishes to the meal, the sunset was only a glow in the western sky, and Brown John, Jakar and Gath were waiting obediently, sitting together on the ground a good twenty feet from her fire. Gath rested against a rock beside his helmet. Jakar, the bandages now removed from his healed arm, sat facing him, massaging the weakened muscles. Brown John sat to one side between them, with his legs drawn up under him.

  They were travel-filthy but relaxed. Silent. Amused as they watched Robin scurry about basting her roast and setting out the foods on large dry leaves which served as plates. When the bukko spoke, it was in a tone exclusively for their ears.

  “She doesn’t look much like a goddess from here, does she? Bustling about and sweating like a tavern wench.”

  Jakar and Gath grinned, and Jakar said, “You’ve got your work cut out for you, old man. She’s going to need the very best now. Rich robes. Acolytes. Rituals. A golden temple. A priesthood! To say nothing of a whole damn theology.”

  “Who says that’s my job?” Brown John said behind a mild scowl.

  “She does,” Jakar said casually. “She’s already decided you’re going to be her high priest.”

  “Arrrghhh!” said the bukko, accepting the fact but hating it. “I always hated priests. Nothing but a bunch of nasty old men taking advantage of pretty little virgins. Pompous, arrogant, vile beasts every one of them. I never met one that wasn’t a poseur and a snob.” He grunted with distaste. “Well, that’s not the way it’s going to be with us.”

  “Us?” Jakar lifted a wary eyebrow.

  “Yes,” insisted Brown John. “You’re in this up to your neck, young man. If I’m a priest, you’re a priest! And since you’re so educated and experienced with the ways of this world, you’re going to see to it that we don’t get carried away with ourselves… and get too fancy.”

  “No more holy quests?” Jakar asked sardonically. “No,” the old man said emphatically. “I’ve had enough of grand schemes to last a lifetime. We’re going to keep it simple now, so ordinary folks can appreciate her.”

  Jakar chuckled. “I see, we’re back to baubles and beads, and tambourines and drums.”

  “Exactly!” said the Grillard, ignoring Jakar’s sarcasm. “Nothing nasty, there’s no call for that. But she’s going to have to put on some weight! And you’re going to see she does. You can’t have a skinny goddess, not these days.”

  “Is that a personal or theological observation?” inquired Jakar.

  “It’s a practical one. She’s just too damned beautiful. She’ll frighten folks off.”

  “You mean… she has to be made more accessible.”

  “That’s right!” Brown John said emphatically. “So the little boys’ eyes will go wide, and so the little girls will dream they can grow up to be just like her.” Jakar chuckled warmly, shook his head in dismay and stood. “I think I
have heard this plot before,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if she’ll allow me to help now.”

  Jakar joined Robin at the fire and she smiled, sighing with exhaustion, then handed him her knife so he could cut the meat, giving him a quick kiss in the process.

  Brown John chuckled and turned to Gath. “He’s all right. He never faltered on the trail. Never once lost his humor. In fact he gained a good deal.” Gath nodded. “And he’s right. You’re going to be busy, old man. Religion is hard work.”

  The bukko thought about that and sighed. “I’m sure I will be, and thank the gods for it. I want no time to think… or remember.” He sat silent, looking at the ground, then looked Gath in the eyes and smiled with one cheek. “But we have had some times, haven’t we?”

  Gath smiled.

  Brown John did the same, then lowered his voice and said carefully, “You really are free, Gath. You have no more obligations to anyone here, and the road from here to Rag Camp is safe. There’s no need for you to go any further… if you don’t want to.”

  Gath nodded, but said nothing.

  “The way I see it,” Brown John continued, “with that helmet, you can go just about anyplace you want to now. And be just what you’ve always wanted to be, the lord of wherever you choose to stand.”

  Gath again made no reply, but their eyes held each other, and understanding passed between them. They knew they were linked by a friendship, the sum of which was greater than either of them. It was strong, bound together like mind and muscle. But the time had come for separate trails. Both had wounds to heal, and the younger man had to prove himself without his mentor to guide him.

  Brown John said, “Don’t misunderstand me, friend. I’m not trying to talk you into anything, but I’ve got to say this, because I’ve never been certain just what there ,was between you and Robin. And I’m not suggesting there should be. But if you leave again, the chances are Robin won’t be there waiting for you when you get back. She may be a goddess, but she’s a woman first, and she’s ready to make life.”

  Gath glanced at Robin and Jakar, watching as they smiled and touched each other at each chance, and said, “I know.”

  He turned to the bukko, and his eyes said he had made his decision.

  Brown John said, “All right, I’m the last man to try and stop you from going. But there is something I do know, and it’s something you should know. Somehow, in a way far beyond my understanding, the two of you, despite what happens between her and Jakar, even if they have a dozen children, are bound together. Maybe it will only be in legends told around campfires, but it’s a fact. I can sense it. The feeling’s been there since I first saw the two of you together. And it wasn’t just the power she had over the helmet. It’s much deeper than that.”

  Gath hesitated, then again said quietly, “I know.”

  The bukko smiled in surrender. “But not even knowing that changes anything, does it? At least not now. You just won’t be tied to anyone… not even me?”

  The Barbarian shook his head.

  “I understand,” Brown John said quietly. “But let me give you one last word of advice.” He glanced at Robin, saw she wasn’t listening and continued in a whisper, “Don’t say goodbye. Just walk away. It will be easier on her… because she’s still torn inside between you and Jakar, even though she may not act it.”

  Gath nodded agreement, not bothering to say he had come to the same decision several days earlier.

  The next day, when the first light of morning touched the distant horizon with its cool grey light, Gath was up before the others. He belted his plain sword around his simple homespun tunic and tied the helmet at his hip. Then he walked quietly through their camp to the corner of its sheltering rock, and looked back one last time.

  Brown John slept fitfully beside the fire, his breathing unsteady and his face torn with frowns born of sad dreams. Robin slept nearby in Jakar’s arms, for the moment at peace with herself and the world.

  Gath backed around the rock, then turned and walked away.

  When the sun had reached the middle of the sky, he was well into the desert, striding down Amber Road heading south toward the ruins of Bahaara, the former desert capital of the Kitzakk Horde. There was no glory in his stride, no triumph, and his face was hard, bitten with determination.

  On the road ahead new worlds awaited him, and within them would be that wild place which was his home. Perhaps there he would find the land in which he had been born, his tribe, his family. Contentment. Then again, perhaps it lay behind, in the smile beneath a crop of red-gold hair, just as his heart said it did. But his trail was set. It was written in the sands of time, and he had done the writing. He now traveled the Endless Trail of chance and adventure, and he was walking it in the only manner his pride allowed.

  Alone.